


You Keep Those

by aeli_kindara



Series: Like Anyone in the World [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Character Study, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Getting Together, M/M, Panty Kink, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 21:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21022703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeli_kindara/pseuds/aeli_kindara
Summary: Castiel has been studying Dean Winchester for some time. Long enough to learn a thing or two.(In which Castiel figures some things out. Follows onLike Anyone in the Worldbut functions as a standalone too.)





	You Keep Those

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was certain there was nothing more I needed to add to [Like Anyone in the World](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20506439). Then a commenter asked about Cas's POV on events, and I had a moment of weakness and a day off work, and anyway — this happened.
> 
> This is for you, [Violetphoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20506439/comments/255543365). And for [Remmy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/remmyme/pseuds/remmyme) and [Bea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaudelin/pseuds/vaudelin), who executed the greatest tag-team beta-read google-doc-comment-storm I've ever seen in my life. <3

### 1.

Castiel has been studying Dean Winchester for some time. Long enough to learn a thing or two.

Like:

Dean was hungry, sometimes, as a child. The kind of hunger that Castiel remembers from his brief time as a human — the kind that drove him, light-headed, to trash barrels and dumpsters, to the apartment of a reaper-possessed stranger.

Sam wasn’t hungry as a child. That’s not a coincidence. It isn’t a coincidence, either, when Dean says things like, _ Cas, here’s the thing you need to know about waitresses, okay — they get hit on all day long. So, you gotta bring your A game. But, upside? They always smell like food. _

Dean finds a lot of joy — a lot of _ safety _ — in people who smell like food.

Like:

Dean finds a lot of joy, a lot of safety, in _ people. _ Bodies; sex. His own body is a weapon, and he knows how to use it, but he knows how to do — _other_ things with it, too. He likes knowing he’s made someone feel good. He likes dropping the rest of his life by the wayside, for a few minutes or a few hours, giving that sum of time to someone and being _ theirs. _

Castiel watches, once. He doesn’t mean to. It’s in Purgatory, Dean and Benny, an unsubtle rendezvous. Castiel is supposed to be standing sentry, and he is, silent in the darkened trees — they must have misremembered his position. They come stumbling into view kissing, crashing into trees, and by the time Castiel realizes what they’re doing isn’t a fight, it’s too late to make his presence known.

He will always remember the look on Dean’s face, illuminated in what sliver of moonlight can pierce its way through the leaves. The small grimace of adjustment when Benny spins him against a trunk and yanks down his jeans — hitches his own hips once, twice — _ You good, Chief? _

_ Yeah, _ breathes Dean, and groans, softly — a quiet, artless sound. _ Yeah, I’m great. _

His face changes, as Benny fucks him. The lines of it smooth out, anger and worry and the need for control — all melting away under the moon. His fingers grip tight on the rough bark of the tree. His eyes slip closed. He rolls his hips backward, meeting Benny’s rhythm, and when Benny starts to curse, he smiles.

Like:

_Fuck_ is the word Dean uses for it. Or _sex_ or _quality time_ or _doing_ _the nasty. One-night wonders. Workin’ on our night moves._

The songs he listens to use even more inventive terms, gardens growing and car parts in need of servicing and the squeezing of lemons, which Castiel will never understand.

There are other words Dean doesn’t use, like: _ date. _ Like: _ love. _

Like:

Dean’s broad-minded, when it comes to sexual partners. Men, women; the occasional monster. Even an angel, once. Sam likes to say he’ll hit on anything that moves.

But not Castiel.

### 2.

Some things about Dean, Castiel studies on purpose.

Movies are easy. Those, Dean wants to show Castiel of his own accord. They spend night after night sprawled in matching armchairs, with a bowl of popcorn — Dean insists on the popcorn — and three different streaming services queued up on the big screen.

They watch _ Tombstone. _ They watch _ Die Hard. _ They watch _ Frozen, _ and _ Road House, _ and _ Dirty Dancing. _ (Swayze, Dean tells Castiel incomprehensibly, always gets a pass.) The entire _ All Saints Day _ series; _ Hell Hazers. _

“You know I,” says Dean, jerking his chin toward the woman screaming on the screen. There’s a grin threatening to burst onto his face; the kind of expression he gets about cowboys and outlaws and sometimes even Castiel. “She and I, ah.”

Ah. Castiel waits, but Dean doesn’t elaborate. So he asks, politely, “How was it?”

The shell on Dean’s smile cracks open. He laughs, mouth full of popcorn, and says, “It was _ awesome._”

They watch TV shows, too: _ Thundercats _ and _ Scooby-Doo _ and _ Dr. Sexy, M.D. _ and _ Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. _ Castiel asks about the pizza man TV show once, and Dean cracks up and explains to him what porn is. Castiel isn’t sure why they can’t watch that — it seems to be an area of some expertise for Dean — but he lets the matter rest.

He notices how the things Dean watched as a child mean something to him. He imagines Dean growing up in a thousand motel rooms, learning to leave and be left. But with the same characters, the same reliable stories, flickering on every screen.

\---

Other things make less sense. Like sports — Dean uses a lot of metaphors about sports. Castiel gathers that he must like them, so he does his research. Sports metaphors are interesting; a lot of them mean something else, too. Hail Mary. Slam dunk. Ball handler.

Dean doesn’t seem to get it when Castiel deploys that knowledge, though, so he lets the matter drop.

\---

Sports are like cars, in that they are a thing _ men _ like. Castiel has seen enough commercials to gather that this is important. Sports are unlike cars in that they are not a thing _ Dean _ likes, though he knows them well enough, like he knows everything.

But cars, he loves. The Impala has always been obvious, but that’s — well. Castiel has read the Winchester gospels. In their mythology, it’s practically a holy relic.

One day, he can’t find Dean anywhere in the bunker. When he drops down to the garage level, though, he can hear music playing. He steps through the door and finds Dean flat on his back underneath Castiel’s old Lincoln Continental.

He slides back out when he sees Castiel’s shoes. His face and his t-shirt are stained with grease. He hasn’t styled his hair today; it looks rumpled in a way that makes Castiel’s throat hurt, makes him want to reach out and touch. He’s grinning.

“Think I’ll have her running by dinnertime,” Dean says, slapping a hand on the Continental’s flank. It leaves a greasy print. “Whoops,” he says, and reaches for a rag.

“I didn’t know you wanted a Continental,” says Castiel, frowning. He remembers Dean calling this car his _ Pimpmobile. _ It didn’t sound like a compliment.

Dean’s smile fades. “It’s for you, Cas,” he says, and retreats back under the car without meeting Castiel’s eyes.

\---

A few things, like Dean’s _ Top 13 Zepp Traxx _ — like _ it’s for you, Cas; _ like _ it’s a gift. you keep those _ — Dean takes it upon himself to teach him.

It’s a long time before Castiel realizes just how many lessons he’s missed.

### 3.

Some things about Dean, Castiel has always known. And yet he still learns them: slowly, then all at once.

Dean doesn’t know who he is without his brother. He’s been looking-out-for-Sammy since he was four years old, and Sam has needed plenty of looking out for. All the things that, in Castiel’s eyes, add up to make Dean — the way he loves, the fuss he makes over his kitchen, the lines of songs he sings along to and the jokes he cracks at his own expense — are shadows of a self, in Dean’s mind. Irrelevant. What matters is: _ Sam. _

Then Sam goes away, and it’s only Dean and Castiel.

It’s not like Sam is _ gone. _ He calls, almost every day; he visits. Rowena comes with him and wanders around the bunker touching things, dropping comments that confuse Castiel and make Dean blush down to the roots of his hair. She seems happy, and a little bit evil; Sam seems happy and more than a little bit good.

Every time they come, Dean cleans the bunker obsessively. He grins his way through home-cooked dinners and research parties and movie marathons and game nights riddled with cheating. Every time they leave, he falls into a multi-day pizza-box-fortress of a funk.

It infuriates Castiel, because he _ knows _ Dean knows better than this. Dean has grown so much, these last few years; he’s strong. He trusts himself. He hasn’t needed Sam like this in years; why now?

_ Family, _ they’ve all said; _ you’re family. We’re family. _Why isn’t Castiel enough?

\---

It’s three months in that Castiel starts looking for a job that’ll take him away. A quest he has to pursue alone, the way he always has.

He senses Dean getting more and more agitated. Moving around the bunker with a manic sort of energy; covering up Castiel’s silences. He doesn’t let Castiel say: _ I think I should go check in on Heaven. _ He doesn’t let him say: _ I love you, you idiot, but you don’t want me here, so — _

Dean hasn’t had sex in a while. Castiel doesn’t think he has, anyway. Maybe that’s why he’s so on edge.

_ I’ll get out of your way, then, _ he mutters to himself, in the darkest parts of his mind. It occurs to him that he feels — wounded. Inadequate. _ I’m not your brother and I’m not enough for you, so I’ll just — let you get on with your life. _

\---

Castiel figures out both things at about the same moment.

It happens when he’s at the car parts store. Dean’s sent him on an errand to pick some things up — a demonstration of trust, Castiel knows. New windshield wiper blades for the Continental. Something with a part number and detailed, written instructions for the Impala.

Castiel takes the note to the counter to show it to the woman who runs the place. She reads it carefully, then nods.

Behind Castiel, the door chimes. The shopkeeper looks over Castiel’s shoulder, and her face breaks into a sudden, glowing smile.

_ Dean, _ thinks Castiel automatically, and turns.

But it’s not. It’s a man wearing coveralls; he has thinning red hair and a goatee. “Fuck off, Hank, I’m helping a customer!” the woman hollers, and then, darting a grin at Castiel, adds: “Sorry. One sec.”

She breaks into a sprint down the shop’s central aisle, stops only when she crashes into Hank’s chest, and they’re kissing. Castiel shouldn’t be watching; he can’t look away. Hank’s hand is cupping the back of her head, thumb stroking her hair behind her ear, and when they break apart he murmurs, “Hey, baby. I missed you.”

“You too,” she says — Castiel can see the corner of her mouth, still curved in that private, lovely smile — and then jabs Hank in the ribs.

He groans theatrically. “I’ll see you after work, ‘kay?” he says, and kisses her again. “Earl’s got an engine for me. Should be deep in that all day.”

“Did you _ sleep? _ Never mind. Don’t make me jealous of an engine,” says the shopkeeper. And, “Come by if you need — _ anything._”

She kisses him again. Hank lingers a moment, then turns gravely back to the door. He takes off across the parking lot at a jog, and the shopkeeper leans out to holler after him, “_ You’d better run!_”

Then she turns back to Castiel. She’s still grinning, her hair in slight disarray. “Sorry ‘bout that. Hank’s a long-haul trucker, when he’s not picking up extra shifts at Earl’s shop. Haven’t seen him in a week and change. I’ll grab you that part.”

She disappears again down the aisles. Castiel leans back against the counter, weak, and thinks: _ I want that. I want all of that. _

He thinks: _ I saw the sun rise on a woman’s face, and thought it must be Dean. _

\---

Castiel doesn’t want to leave. He hasn’t ever, not really. He only wants an excuse not to _ want; _ not to say what he wants. In case Dean doesn’t want it too.

Dean can’t keep running in fifth gear forever. He can’t keep fleeing Castiel’s silences, the moment when something else might be said.

“Hey, Cas, uh,” says Dean, when Castiel bursts into the kitchen. He doesn’t look like the sun has risen; he looks panicked. He looks like he’s out of room to run. “You want a — beer?”

Before Castiel can answer, he’s shoving himself up from his seat — striding with purpose to the fridge.

_ No, I want you, dumbass, _ Castiel thinks, and abruptly he’s sick of talking.

When he hauls Dean out of the fridge door and spins him, it’s clumsy; winds up with the door handle wedged against Dean’s back. His eyes are wide. Castiel only catches a glimpse of them. Then he’s too close, because he’s kissing Dean, kissing like the pizza man taught him. Like he’s going to say _ every last thing _ he’s learned — every thing he’s kept silent — all at once.

When Dean kisses him back, when Dean touches his hands to Castiel’s hips, Castiel draws back to look at him.

Dean’s staring, lips parted and shining, pink stains of color high on his cheeks. His hair is spiked and messy where Castiel’s run his hands through it. He looks like a sunrise.

Words are important after all. “I do not want a beer,” Castiel says clearly. “I want to have sex with you. I want to do it now, and I want to do it many more times before we both die. Is this agreeable to you?”

Dean’s still staring. He raises a hand to touch his own mouth. His eyes are round, pupils wide with shock and — not only shock, Castiel thinks. “Yeah, Cas,” he says. “Yeah.”

And that’s what they do.

### 4.

Castiel has been studying Dean Winchester for some time now. Long enough to learn a thing or two.

Like: the way Dean drops a kiss on his head in the mornings, in bed, or at the kitchen table over coffee. The appreciative groan when Castiel’s already _ made _ the coffee; occasionally, his gratitude comes in the form of a sloppy sideways morning-breath kiss, the kind that makes Castiel shove him away with a muffled exclamation of disgust and keeps both of them grinning all the way to the bottom of the pot.

Like: the way Dean’s face tightens and smooths, when he lets go completely. The way his muscles flutter and clench on Castiel’s fingers, on his cock; the way he tips back his head. The feel of his gasps and small curses under Castiel’s lips at his throat. The taste of his sweat. The taste of his come.

Like: the wonder that steals over Dean’s face when he makes Castiel fall apart. Like he’s watching a sunrise — a thousand sunrises, all at once.

Like: the things he can do with his _ tongue. _

Like: the way he looks draped in Castiel’s trenchcoat, or the way he looks at Castiel when one morning he pulls on Dean’s faded old Zeppelin t-shirt as he fumbles out of bed. The precise, controlled way he sets a cowboy hat on Castiel’s head one day, and proceeds to blow him against the door frame; they never make it all the way to the bed.

Like: how he answers to praise. As if he’s never heard it before in his life; as if it slides under his skin and turns him inside out. _ You are beautiful, _ Castiel tells him, to watch Dean shudder and arch against him, his breath coming fast; _ you are so beautiful. I love you. _ And, when he’s losing his own control, when Dean’s writhing into him at a torturous pace that makes him see stars: _ I would burn galaxies for you. I would invent new languages. I would learn to play the harp — _

Like: that Dean will remember these things, and go out one day and buy him a harp, practically fall to the floor laughing as Castiel opens the monstrosity of wrapping paper. But Dean will be the one who sort of learns to play it.

Like that Dean is still afraid sometimes; that sometimes he still has doubts. They fight. They learn more of each other. They come out to Sam, who grins and raises his beer in congratulations, and after he’s gone Dean sits on the floor with his shoulders shaking, breath heaving, saying over and over again, _ I didn’t know — it’s so dumb — how scared I still was to tell him — _

Like that Dean owns a pair of women’s panties, and likes to wear them sometimes — likes when Castiel tells him to. That his dick rock-hard and straining against them is one of the most erotic things Castiel has ever seen. Like that Castiel can tell him to wear them _ all day _ — out in the world, even, on a run for groceries or a visit to Oak Park; that he can dip his fingers inside Dean’s waistband at daring moments to check — and that by the time they get home they’ll both be so driven to distraction that they rarely make it past the map table, leave their shopping bags scattered on the floor.

Like that you can make a lot of alarms go off in the bunker, if you accidentally kick a particular combination of Buenos Aires and Beirut.

Like that he _ loves _Dean, which he knew already. It doesn’t matter. He learns it again, every day, just like he learns that Dean loves him.

Like that he won’t be done learning things about Dean, not for a long time. That sometimes that scares him. That the reckoning of his own immortality and the question of discarding it are terrifying; that there are days when it’s too real, too close, when Castiel still wants to disappear.

Like that Dean knows that. And can help. Can touch Castiel’s hair and pull him in by his tie and make it better, if Castiel lets him. Like that he _ wants _ to.

After all, Dean has been studying Castiel for some time now — long enough to learn a thing or two.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://gravelghosts.tumblr.com/post/188448292304/you-keep-those-29k-m-canonverse-deancas) for your reblogging needs.


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